Just North of Beautiful
by 60LoveStoriesLater
Summary: WRITTEN OF A PROMPT: Against all odds, Lexa survives & Clarke is determined to show her what she's missed. CLEXA GOODNESS. Rating may change to M if I decide to continue.
**A/N: I have been sent two prompts & this is the first chapter to one of them. **

**Rating may change if I decide to continue.**

 **Reviews are always wonderful to get. Let me know what you think!**

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It was physically impossible for any human, of any race or orientation, to survive the way that Lexa had. It still dumbfounded Clarke's mother, who arrived just in time to conduct a last minuet round of damage control before Lexa's conscious mind had faltered. The Commander had been lying unconscious for three weeks ever since; living solely through a small, glass chip. It seemed impossible - and Abby still insisted that it was - but Lexa was now well enough to skilfully deceive the watchful vigilance of Clarke's mother, leaving her quarters to meet Clarke in the gardens surrounding their new substitute village. The night was quiet when Lexa slipped out of her tent, ducking her head to avoid being noticed as she slipped between the shadows. The last embers of fire had gone out hours ago, leaving the village in a blanket of darkness. In her mind's eye she could see the structures surrounding her perfectly. With her own tent twelve paces behind her, she knew that to her left was Indra's dwelling, while the home of Kane now stood only thirty paces forward.

The rain ceased and the clouds drifted away, so that the sky was scattered once more with the incredible lamps of stars. Then the breeze died too and there was no noise save the drip and tickle of water that ran out of clefts and spilled down, leaf by leaf, to the brown earth of the island. The air was cool, moist, and clear; and presently even the sound of the water was still. The small hamlet of Telegraph Cove lay desolate on the northeast coast of Vancouver Island, where even the air filtered down greenly through the trees. Lexa strode through the maze of tents, threading softly through the gravel until she arrived at a wide glade, where the trees fell away, revealing the speckled sky. The first of the evening's stars were glinting like silver pin pricks, luminous and bright. An ore gold moon hung quietly in the distance, casting a honeyed sheen over the trees. Bedded beside the Redwood forest was a beautiful river house with a lantern glow, lavender grey in the light of the stars. Honeysuckle climbed up one wall like a lattice, winding all the way up and over the thick wooden shingles. Late summer roses bloomed in the handkerchief garden under dark, deep-set windows. There was a little path of flat stones, amethyst in the night that led up to the quaint arched wooden door. The back of the house arched proudly over Bluebell River, which ran its course downwards, towards the shore line. The tiny sawmill and cannery community curled around the boardwalk in one of the last virtually untouched areas of the North American continent, floating through life to the beat of its own soundtrack.

On the rocky north edge of the beach, the Healer's daughter sat alone, carving haphazard figures in the sand and then disfiguring them one by one. Her silhouette was so dense that the moonlight bent around her. Occasionally, her concentration would break and she'd prod at the flames of a small camp fire as they licked upwards, towards the velvet skies. When an ember fell and hissed against the sand, she kicked it away with the toe of her Timberland boots. Her knees were lifted and spread apart, her upper half sunk into the pile of blankets that closed over her body like a straightjacket. She was wearing a faded pair of ripped boyfriend jeans and a thick, cable-knit roll-neck. She had long-forgotten sunglasses balanced on top of her head, held in place by a neatly coiffed quiff of blonde waves, and when she bowed her head, tousled hair fell over one shoulder in soft tousles, brushing at the sand beneath her toes. She had a cigarette dangling from her painted lips, the long ash about to fall. When her eyes caught the yellow gleam of Lexa's torch, she clambered to her feet, diverting her gaze to the floor. A rock spun out of her hand so fast, Lexa swore she could hear it buzz through the air. It skimmed across the water top, hop after hop like a leapfrog racing across the water. Clarke didn't stay to watch it sink though, instead scurrying over to the beach's rocky edge, concern plastered over her scared face.

Lexa stopped short, watching in awe as the night sky covered Clarke's bones. The downcast figure appeared just out of reach as she ghosted along the northern tip of the boardwalk, gesturing for the Commander to follow. Lexa shoved her hands inside her coat pockets & scurried towards a tiny red cabin frosted with fairy lights and beautiful, white Begonia flowers hanging from the rafters. At the door, she paused as if to wait for some unknown thing, then disappeared inside, excited to finally see Clarke alone. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the old bookstore as she stepped inside. It was a tiny place; decorated with furs, candles & a single check armchair which was occupied by a sleepy, red dachshund. Lexa felt strangely as though she had entered a very strict library; she swallowed a lot of new questions which had just occurred to her and looked instead at the thousands of narrow bookshelves piled neatly right up to the ceiling. Three weeks of solitary musings had left her extremely out of sync. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled and the palms of her hands sweated up. The very essence of dust, candles and silence inside the quaint little store seemed to tingle with some secret magic. Lexa took a curious step forward; her delicate fingers lingering over the age-old spines. Her dark eyes fell upon a small table that had been pushed up against the rickety, old staircase, a little like Harry Potter's cupboard. Black coffee, tattered books, and a tartan scarf lay forgotten on the wooden desk, along with a tiny, beige envelope. She peered over her shoulder, making sure the door had been shut & then turned to find Clarke standing in front of her, biting her lip wantingly.

Immediately, Lexa launched a frenzied attack on Clarke's bloodied lips, moaning as her stitches tugged at her skin, warning her to slow down. The blonde trembled and twitched as Lexa kissed the corner of her parted lips and tugged at the hot lobe of her ear. Her legs were not too close together, and when Lexa's hand located what it sought, a dreamy and eerie expression, half-pleasure, half-pain, came over Clarke's satisfied features. She moaned appreciatively, wanting to tell Lexa how long she'd waited for her touch, how she'd dreamed of this for weeks now, praying she would pull through & fulfil her promises, but Lexa swallowed her thoughts with a heavy, breathless kiss. Full of temptation & want, Lexa pushed Clarke towards the stairs, pinning her against the fourth step until her legs were forced to buckle. She sat a little higher than Lexa, grabbing fistfuls of hair plentifully as her hips rocked against the carpeted floors. Her head bent with a sleepy, soft, drooping movement that was almost woeful, and her bare knees caught and compressed Lexa's wrist, and slackened again; and her quivering mouth, distorted by the acridity of some mysterious potion, with a sibilant intake of breath came near to the Commander's face, whimpering her name. She fought to relieve the pain of being denied this pleasure for so long by first rubbing her dry lips against Lexa's; then, with a nervous toss of her hair, let the brunette feed on her open mouth, offering the Commander everything she had.

"I'm not letting you go." Clarke promised between broken sobs, squeezing her eyes shut to stop her tears from falling. She could feel Lexa's walls crumble, and suddenly the hands that had been fisting the material of her jeans where clasped around her neck, holding their bodies flush against one another. The former Commander's sudden cry contained a deep rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound. She clasped onto Clarke for support, and then her whole body began to shake. The sobs were stifled at first as she attempted to hide her grief, then overcome by the wave of her emotion she broke down entirely, all of her defences washed away in those salty tears. Lexa hadn't acknowledged the paralyzing fear loss evoked in her iron-clad heart since Costia, but now it seemed closer than ever before. She was a picture of total grief, loss, and devastation. Her blotched face was the face of one who had suffered before and didn't know if she could do it again. Swallowing thickly around the tears in her throat, Clarke reinstated a promise she'd made months ago. "I'm not letting you go." With her jeans still undone & her elbow's ripped apart by tender sores, she tucked her head into the crook of Lexa's neck & inhaled deeply. The Commander slammed her head against Clarke's chest, paniful screams erupting from her chest. as her tears beat down, consuming her entire body. Her hand's fisted Clarke's shoulder's, her arms, her neck, her face. She pressed a desperate, shaking kiss against the blonde's trembling lips, Clarke grabbed her despondant hands & pinned them against Lexa's thighs, hurriedly capturing Lexa's lips in hers & holding her there, until Lexa's breathing regulated, allowing Clarke's scared heart to slow. "Lexa, baby. Please look at me." Watery, shame-filled eyes met hers, blinking away the wretched tears. "Lexa, I'm not letting you go."


End file.
